Longing for Jesus’ Birthday | Christmas Voices of Hope

Sr. Orianne Pietra René, FSP

Monday, December 8, 2025

Photo of two smiling young women in light monastic habits surrounded by Christmas wreaths

Sr. Orianne with Sr. Mary Joane Caritas. Photo used with permission.

Welcome to Advent, and to our series, "Christmas Voices of Hope: Stories and Reflections for the Season." This time of preparation to celebrate the birth of Christ is full of stories, experiences, and traditions that come to define what the season means for each of us.

To inspire you with hope during this month of waiting and anticipation, we have invited friends and members of the Salt + Light Media family to share how their Advent and Christmas traditions have marked their own journey, and that of their communities.

Today's reflection comes to us from Sr. Orianne Pietra René, FSP, who writes about a Christmas experience that drew her closer to God in a new way.

A few years before I entered the convent, I had a Christmas I’ll never forget. I was in Japan to visit family, taking my winter break from teaching elementary school. The city streets were alive with delightful lights, holiday-themed songs, Christmas-inspired matcha, and cozycore displays. There was a notable absence of anything related to Jesus, although I wasn’t surprised. I was hardly expecting Nativity scenes or greetings of “Merry Christmas” in a country where less than 2 per cent of the population is Christian. But even though I’d anticipated the absence of nativities, hymns, or hearing “Merry Christmas,” I hadn’t anticipated the quiet, hollow feeling that absence would leave in me. It wasn’t just because traditions I knew and loved were missing, but also the realization of what – or who - the incredible people around me were missing. I found myself wondering how many of the people walking by me on the street had ever heard the story of Jesus at all.

Then, as Christmas Eve approached, I realized something else:

There was no Catholic church nearby. In addition, I didn’t have easy or safe access to transportation to get to one alone further out, either.

That was the first (and only) Christmas since becoming Catholic that I missed celebrating little Jesus’ birth at Mass. The circumstances were no one’s fault, and I made sure to remain cheerful and enjoy my family and our adventures… but inside there was a sorrow that surprised me in its intensity. It was a sorrow to miss a holy day of obligation, even if I did meet the criteria for a dispensation. Far more so, it felt like I was missing the birthday of the person I loved the most. I wanted to celebrate with him at Mass with every fibre of my being, surrounded by those who I yearningly hoped would know, love, and celebrate him too. I prayed in a very particular way on Christmas Eve in union with those celebrating across the world, and sang Baby Jesus a “Happy Birthday” under my breath, surprised at the tears of longing that came to accompany the melody.

The next morning, Christmas Day, I was with my family at a stationary shop. I picked out some sticky notes that had a charm that only Japanese stationary designers can bring - I knew my students would love seeing them appear on their marked assignments the rest of the year. I brought them to the counter, relying on the cashier’s screen to know the right amount of yen to count out, since we didn’t share a common language. He wrapped my little package with careful precision and handed it to me with two hands. I accepted with two hands of my own and thanked him with an arigato. I turned away to rejoin my family, and had taken four or five steps from the counter when I heard him call out in broken English: “Merry Christmas!”

Sr. Orianne with Sr. Margaret Edward, Sr. Mary Domenica, Sr. Fay Josephine, and Sr. Mary Joane Caritas.

I froze for a split second, then swung around with the biggest smile breaking over my face. There were tears in my eyes and joy in my voice before I even knew I was calling back, “Merry Christmas!”

It was such a simple interaction. But it changed me. In the simple, brave act of a cashier greeting a foreigner with a word from their homeland, Jesus reminded me of three things: that he was with me that Christmas; that he was waiting for me in the Mass; and that he was at work in the people of this place too – he had not left them either.

That day, Jesus began a new Christmas tradition with me. I began to pray that he would be born into the hearts of those who did not yet know him. Several years later, I spent my first Christmas in a convent with the Daughters of St. Paul. There I began to realize that Jesus had planted seeds in my heart that he wished to grow much larger within the call to religious life. That tradition he began with me has now deepened into the special prayer of our Sisters for those who have yet to encounter Christ. In a particular way, I always remember the people of Japan in our Christmas prayers, trusting that the Holy Spirit continues his work to bring the Gospel to full fruition where Christ is not yet widely known. Through the prayers and work of Christians across the world, and through the special openness of heart the Christmas season brings, I look forward to the day that we, from all the nations, will sing joyfully the song of the angels on that fateful night: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will.”

+Gloria Deo, pax hominibus+